It Starts with a Flower
by fiadorable
Summary: Prompts and one shots featuring or mentioning Outlaw Queen. New: Escape - Modern OQ AU
1. It Starts with a Flower

**Prompt from melzaon on tumblr. Robin leaves Regina a flower.**

* * *

It begins with a flower.

A weed, to be more precise.

The child runs on unsteady legs, heedless of the roots and rabbit holes sprinkled in his path, a clutch of yellow sowthistles swinging from his hand. He's panting by the time he reaches her, thin shoulders heaving, lifting his green cloak off the forest floor with every breath. He bends at the waist, more to catch his breath than in deference, she thinks, one hand planted on a knobby knee and the other thrusting the rustic bouquet toward her.

"Majesty," he says. "For you."

Regina glances at Snow, Charming, and the thief. The former two wear identical smirks, and the latter regards her with a wary curiosity as his son looks up at her through sweaty brown curls flopping onto his forehead. She glares at them all, and then flicks her cape aside to crouch before the boy.

"What is your name?" she asks, pitching her voice low to keep their conversation semi-private.

The boy straightens, head held high, flowers still outstretched. "Roland of Locksley." He announces his name with pride blooming from the tips of his toes to the ends of his ears, a wide gap-toothed smile completing his proclamation.

Henry's face flickers over the boy's, and she swallows thickly as a pain lances through her chest. "Well, Roland of Locksley, I thank you for your kind gift." Sowthistle wreaks havoc on her sinuses, the one allergy she has, but she accepts his token with a grave expression and tucks them away in the folds of her cloak, For safe keeping, she says.

Roland grins and pulls the edges of his cloak around him, looking for all the world like a dimpled green been, swaying side to side, overcome by a fit of bashfulness in her presence, and then he shrieks with laughter as strong hands lift him into the air.

"That was very thoughtful of you, m'boy," the thief says, tossing his son into the air as Regina stands. "But we have work to do. We must show Snow White and her prince the way to Sherwood Forest."

"What about the queen?"

Regina opens her mouth to answer the boy, but her eyes water and her nose buzzes as the thistle pollen hits her, and she chokes off her reply, raising her hand to press a finger delicately below her nose.

"Ah," Robin says, glancing at Regina with a small frown. "The queen is going on ahead to make sure the castle is safe for everyone."

"Oh," Roland says. He wriggles in his father's arms until the thief sets him down. He walks over to Snow and considers her with tilted head. "Are you really Princess Snow?"

Charming's laugh makes an abrupt shift to a coughing fit as his wife elbows him, and the thief scolds his son for his impropriety.

"It's all right," Snow assures the thief, and nods her head at the small boy. "I am Snow White, and you were very brave when that flying monkey attacked us."

Roland gives her a solemn nod before holding out his hand. "I'll show you the way to our home."

Snow raises her brows at Charming and Regina as the boy leads her away, chattering about the river that runs near their camp, the fat gray squirrel living in the large oak near his papa's tent, and cautioning her against running across the Knotted Bridge lest she fall into to the bottomless ravine.

Charming chuckles and and braces his hand on the pommel of his sword. "He's precocious."

"You've no idea," the thief says, shaking his head. "Your majesties."

Regina watches the thief trail after Snow and his son, leaving her alone with Charming, her finger still pressed to her nose.

The prince steps closer and folds his arms across his chest. "You're allergic to those flowers, aren't you?" he asks, leaning toward her but keeping his face trained on his wife as she nods at something the boy says.

Regina lowers her hand. "Shut up," she says, but frowns as the tingling builds again. She can't hold it back any longer. She sneezes. Explosively. And then scowls as Charming digs in his overcoat and pulls out a handkerchief. She waves him off, conjuring her own in a flash of purple smoke.

"You're sure you don't need assistance inside the castle?"

"Just make sure you're ready when I bring the shield down," she snaps, turning away to march through the forest, and if half of her consonants sound like d's when she speaks, the prince is wise enough to keep his silence.

* * *

It ends with a flower.

A rugosa rose tied to the shaft of an arrow buried between the stones framing her balcony.

She stalks over to the projectile and yanks it free, frowning as the mortar crumbles and falls to the floor. Not just a flower, she sees, but a scrap of parchment as well, wrapped around the stem and shaft, secured with a length of twine. Three words mark the paper, and she sits down hard on the bed as she reads.

Damn the Charmings for telling him, for who else would have remembered, and damn him for his incessant concern.

She crushes the paper into a ball and throws it aside, watches it skip across the floor until it collides with the hearth. She could burn it to ash, erase the evidence of his thoughtfulness, but she won't. Conjuring flame seems too much effort to expend.

_For your boy_.

She twirls the rose between her thumb and forefinger, touches the soft petals to her lips for a moment, and allows herself a moment of grief amidst the pressures facing her today. A knock on the door echoes through the room. Snow and Charming come to discuss the niceties of casting the Dark Curse. She's going to decimate an entire population again to save them from another form of destruction.

In the darkest crevices of her heart, in her loneliest moments, she wonders if Henry prefers his life with Emma, a life without magic and its dangers, its hidden costs. A life with a mother who creates instead of destroys. Will he even want her back in his life once they return to Storybrooke?

Another knock at the door, this time louder and accompanied by Snow's voice. "Regina? You in there?"

She sighs, slides her finger under her lashes to catch the moisture collecting (she must be allergic to roses, too) and rises from the bed.

The rose she deposits in a small vase on her vanity, nestled within a cluster of dandelions that had been presented to her over breakfast this morning. She opens the door for Snow and Charming, and if they notice the gold tipped arrow forgotten on her pillow, neither says a word.

Before they get down to business, Regina rubs her fingers across the petals of the rose once more, and whispers, _Happy birthday, my Little Prince_.


	2. Breakfast in Bed

**Prompt from lillie-grey on Tumblr. Breakfast in Bed. Takes place in the same universe as "First Day" but stands alone.**

* * *

She's crying again, a quiet snuffling sound slipping between the gaps in his fragmented dreams, snapping his tenuous grip on sleep like a twig beneath his boot. _Not again_. He's been through this before, but somehow it's not any easier this time around, despite all the so called modern conveniences.

Robin rolls to his side and stretches out his hand to comfort her, even though he knows he is not the one she wants, not with this particular cry. He splays his fingers across her belly, rubbing small circles across the soft pink cotton, hoping he can soothe her back to sleep before—

"Is she hungry again?" Regina mumbles. The bed dips as she slides over and wraps her arms around his bare torso, her head nestling into the slope of his neck. Her lips fall against his shoulder, a light graze of a kiss followed by a soft breath of air as she sighs. "I was hoping she'd make it until six today."

Robin glances over at the digital clock on the nightstand. "We've almost made it. Five forty-five."

"Maybe she'll go back to sleep," Regina says, yawning against his shoulder and tucking herself further into his body.

No one's had an ounce of sleep in the last few weeks, despite the bottles she's given him to feed Alexia on nights like tonight (last night?) when she needs the rest. He'd used the last one a few hours ago, had searched to the back of the refrigerator to make sure he hadn't missed one of the tiny bottles among the casserole trays and leftovers provided by the Charmings and other well-wishers, all to no avail.

"Maybe." Robin continues rubbing circles on his newborn daughter's belly, but she's having none of his ministrations this morning, her whimpers sharpening into the prelude of a full fledged wail. "Or not."

"Mm, hand her over before she wakes the boys."

Regina's hands slip away from his chest as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He feels her shift to sit back against the headboard as he reaches into the bassinet and scoops his daughter into his arms.

"Hush, little outlaw," he whispers, rocking her for a moment as Regina pulls down the shoulder of her nightgown. "The queen is almost ready for you."

Regina yawns against the back of her hand, and then lolls her head to either side, cracking her neck. "Bring her to me," she commands, holding out her arms, chin raised, ever the queen even as she lays half bare with the duvet pulled up to her waist, her shoulders slumped against the padded headboard.

Robin sits on the bed and transfers their daughter to her embrace, watching in fascination as Regina brings her to her breast. No matter how many times he sees them like this, he will never not be in awe of the mother of his child and his daughter sharing these moments, knows how fleeting they are in the wake of life's turbulence. He cradles Alexia's downy head in his palm as he leans over to kiss Regina's temple. "Can I get you anything from the kitchen, love?"

"Breakfast in bed?" she asks, hiking an eyebrow, and he smiles because he knows how fastidious she is about crumbs between the sheets.

"Seeing as you're already providing that particular service, I thought I might return the favor."

Regina smiles, lets her head rest against the headboard as she closes her eyes. "Coffee?"

"Decaf."

"And they called me evil."

"You love me."

She pouts for a moment, trying to wait him out, and then cracks open an eyelid to gauge his reaction. Her face softens as she finds him entranced with Alexia's grip on his forefinger, his thumb sweeping a tender arc against the back of their daughter's hand as she continues to feed. Robin lifts his eyes to Regina's, and his heart cracks open a little with unbearable lightness as she smiles sleepily and covers their joined hands with her own, saying, "That I do, thief."


	3. A One Time Offer

**Sort of prompt from thisisamadhouse on Tumblr. She wanted a crack!fic with Regina teaching Snow something and this fluff happened instead. Mary Margaret calls Regina for help with mayoral duties during 4a and Regina holds a baby. Set after Marian is frozen. (Snow Queen brotp and mention of OQ)**

* * *

It's amorphous, this arrangement between Regina and Mary Margaret over the leadership of the town. While the dark curse is designed to place the caster in position as the mayor, all the finer details still have Regina's touch on them, down to the color scheme of the office and the arrangement of the furniture. Atrocious bird paintings notwithstanding. That's all Mary Margaret.

The lack of responsibility is… refreshing. Regina relishes the lightness of not being responsible for the lives of people ungrateful and uncaring of what it takes to be the one making the hard decisions, spends her mornings catching up on comics with Henry before school, her afternoons and evenings dedicated to researching cures for freezing spells.

However. When her former step-daughter calls her as she's pouring over a dusty tome for the third time that morning, and all Regina can hear is the incessant screaming of the newborn prince drowning out his mother, she finds herself unable to stay away.

She's satisfied with their arrangement (most days), but the click of her heels on the marble floors inserts a tiny spring into her step that's been absent, and walking into city hall feels more like coming home than walking into the mansion when Henry's away. Neal's wailing echoes through the empty hallways, and she winces as she rounds the corner and stops in front of the office. She's been here for all of thirty seconds her ears are already ringing. She tugs the sleeves of her black sweater down over her wrists, Mary Margaret having caught her in a rare moment of casual (for her) clothing, and opens the door.

Mary Margaret isn't behind the desk, as she'd expected, nor is she seated at the long conference table or curled up on the couch. Regina walks into the room, her lip curling as she catches sight of the bird print on the wall and then frowning as she sees the mirror she'd broken the last time she'd been alone in this room. She'd forgotten to replace it, but someone has at least swept up the glass. She hadn't noticed when pulling Marian's heart from her icy chest days ago, but that's neither here nor there right now, she tells herself, rubbing her palms along her black slacks.

Prince Neal is easy enough to locate. She walks over to the stroller where the young prince makes a concentrated effort to destroy his vocal cords long before ever uttering a word. His face is tearstained and red as one of her honey crisps, but he's no longer crying, just angry, his tiny body arching against the straps securing him to the stroller. "Mary Margaret?" she calls, undoing the clasps across the baby's chest.

"Regina?"

A hand appears from below the desk. Regina frowns and gathers Neal into her arms as Mary Margaret lifts herself from the cubby underneath the desk. "What are you doing here?" the younger woman asks, running the back of her hands across her cheeks.

"It sounded like someone was being murdered on the phone." Still does, in fact, but she's having no luck finding a cure for Marian, and solving a bureaucratic crisis sounds like heaven right now.

Regina bounces the prince in her arms and sways her hips as she walks back to the stroller to fish around for the pacifier clipped to the arm of the carrier. She holds the orange soother against his lips, but he knocks it out of her hand. The pacifier falls back into the stroller. Unperturbed, Regina reaches back down and this time throws a dash of magic toward the pacifier to chill the rubber. Again he rejects the offering. This time she catches the pacifier before it falls and tucks it into her pocket.

"He's been like this all day," Mary Margaret moans, sitting in the chair behind the desk, one elbow planted on the arm on the chair, chin propped on her hand. "David and Emma are busy on a lead and I have all this paperwork to do and I couldn't find the budget requests for the road improvements, which is why I called you, and no matter what I do he just keeps crying."

A string of body-jolting hiccups interrupt the baby's tirade, and Regina holds her breath, thinking the unexpectedness of this new sensation might distract him. Instead, it only incenses him more, and the crying resumes after the briefest of pauses. "Did you try feeding him?" she asks.

"Of course I did! I walked him, fed him, burped him, sang to him, changed his diaper twice, changed his clothes, changed my clothes, and nothing works. He hates me."

Regina rolls her eyes as the last sentence dissolves into a wail. Surely she hadn't been this pathetic when she'd first adopted Henry. To her surprise, though she finds herself saying, "Finish your paperwork."

"What?"

"I said finish your paperwork." She walks over to the file cabinet near the door and pulls a manilla envelope from the second tier of inboxes stacked on top. "Danielle files the budget requests in the second inbox. Completed forms go in the the third inbox." She tosses the envelope onto the desk with a thwap and shifts Neal to her other shoulder.

"But—"

"This is a one time offer, Mary Margaret."

"O-okay," she says, and pulls her chair closer to the desk. "Thank you."

Regina raises her eyebrows and turns back to the stroller. A soft white blanket with a blue ribbon woven through the edges is folded in the storage compartment, and she rubs her thumb across the cursive embroidery depicting his name. As she pulls the blanket free, a small cooler with tiny newborn bottles is revealed. She grabs both and shifts Neal again so she can pull the cooler's strap up over her arm. The blanket she wraps around him, tucking the extra length around his squirmy body, ensuring all his limbs are snug inside the fuzzy warmth. "We'll be down the hall," Regina says.

Mary Margaret nods, a weary smile on her lips as she pulls a small stack of papers toward her, pen in hand.

Regina closes the door behind her and walks down the hall, rubbing the baby's back and whispering in his ear. "We're going to on a tour of city hall. We're going to walk all up and down these hallways until you have screamed and cried yourself to sleep. Once you've calmed down a little, we're going to have a snack, and then you're going straight back to your mother and I'm going straight back to my vault."

The building isn't large by anyone's standards, but there are plenty of rooms and nooks and crannies to explore. They walk from room to room, Regina keeping a running narrative of the function of each room they're in, grateful it's a Saturday and no one else is working. Once they've visited all the offices, ducked into the women's restroom to check his diaper, and walked up and down the stairs twice, Neal's cries have subsided to a much lower decibel.

Henry would work himself into fits like this, and she'd taken him on this very tour many a time, trying to soothe the colicky tears away between meetings. As she remembers those long days and nights, the shadow of previous migraines triggered by the overwhelming helplessness and fatigue presses between her eyes. She's not that woman anymore, still trapped in the clutches of darkness, a single mother struggling to love as felt she had never been loved, pacing up and down hallways at three in the morning, rocking a fussy infant to sleep with one hand as she tries to wolf down her lunch with the other. Now her boy is grown, almost, and the darkness still clings to her like a spider's web, delicate and sticky against her skin, but she's learning to work around what won't come free. No, she thinks as they round another corner, another hallway, she hadn't been any better than Mary Margaret.

There. Neal's cries begin to die off. He rubs his face against her shoulder, leaving a gummy trail of snot and saliva shimmering against the black cable knit pattern. If he'll take a bottle from her, she might be able to nudge him into the nap he's fighting so desperately against.

For a moment, she considers going back to the office. The couch will be more comfortable than standing or sitting in the stiff backed chairs that line the hallways, but if Mary Margaret has had any luck getting through the paperwork piled on the desk, she doesn't want to distract her. There are days she itches to take the title from her, to sweep in and reclaim her position and fix the mess things have become in her absence. But she won't. Because right now, she is just the Woman Formerly Known as the Evil Queen, and her only obligations are to be a mother, save her true love's wife, send the prince off to sleep. Easy.

She settles for sitting in the expansive chair behind the information desk. The arms are well padded and adjustable, and the seat is wide enough she could sit with her legs crossed beneath her if she wanted. As she considers the chair, she decides to do just that, and slips her boots off as she sets the cooler on the desk. Within moments she's crosslegged in the chair, Neal propped against her right arm, his bottle held up with three fingers from her left hand. The silence as he eats relieves most of the pressure in her head, though her ears continue to ring.

"You are lucky, little one," she says, quiet enough that Mary Margaret won't overhear through the the thin walls (though if she has any hearing left it would be a miracle). "You have a family who loves you."

Prince Neal is focused on the bottle, blue eyes almost cross-eyed, glassy in the haze of eating. Is it too soon for him to be able to focus on objects as far away as her face? It's been so long since she's held a baby this small. He even looks a little like Henry did at this age.

"Your mother and I have a complicated history, but I know she's doing what she feels is her best. You and me," she says, gently pulling the empty bottle away from his mouth, his tiny pink lips still smacking, trying to suckle the air, "We have a chance to start fresh with each other. You promise to give her hell every now and then, and I'll keep away the curses, the wicked witches, the things that go bump in the night, and the darkness that lurks in the daytime. Deal?"

She places the pacifier in his mouth and sighs when his eyes drop closed and stay that way. She brushes the last evidence of his tears away from his face with her thumb and stands up, careful to not jostle him too much. When she returns to the office, still sans boots, Mary Margaret has made it through the first two stacks of paperwork.

"You did it," she says, pushing herself up from the chair.

"Of course I did."

"How?"

Regina sighs. "I just did," she says.

"You make it seem so easy."

"That's because it is." Regina places the prince back in the stroller, taking care with his limp, sleep heavy limbs as she straps him in. "He's crying. You're his mother. It's your job to figure out why and do something about it besides calling me and hiding under your desk."

"I wasn't hiding. I dropped my pen," Mary Margaret protests, but when Regina raises her eyebrows at her she looks away. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Regina. I know you're busy."

Regina lifts a hand as if she can diffuse the apology like a foul odor in the air.

"No, I mean it. And I'm sorry I broke into your house during the blackout."

"I changed the locks."

"Oh, good. I like a challenge." They smile at each other for a moment before Mary Margaret sobers as she looks down at her son. "Regina, you're closest thing I have to a mother."

Regina cringes inside, but manages to keep her face neutral as she waits.

"You've done all this before and I haven't and I still don't know how you did it."

Regina shifts through several different responses before deciding what to say. "You have something I didn't have, though. You have David, Emma, even, to help you. Use them."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't lose him again, not after…"

"Zelena," Regina finishes. "And me." It no longer stings, the seemingly constant reminder of her misdeeds and their long-reaching consequences, has subsided to a slight ache beneath her sternum, the flare of pain in acknowledgement of sins that while one day may be forgiven will never be forgotten. "You're going to burn yourself out trying to be everyone at once. Have Emma watch Neal for a few hours. Or Belle. Or Granny. Anyone. Not me," Regina says, cutting off Mary Margaret's hopeful smile. "I have my own problems to deal with right now."

"Right. How's the research going?"

Regina purses her lips. "Not well. I should be getting back to it, as a matter of fact."

She turns to leave, but Mary Margaret tugs on her sleeve. "Thank you," she says. "For everything."

"You're welcome." They don't hug. She's not a huggy person aside from Henry and a certain other someone, but she clasps the younger woman's upper arm and squeezes, smiling. "You know, Ashley, the cinder girl, she has a first-time mothers group. I approved community grant funding for it before, well, before. You might want to try it out."

"Really?" Mary Margaret smiles, but it's short lived. "But I'm not a first-time mother. What would Emma think?"

"Emma's a big girl. She can handle it. And you could use the support."

"I'll think about it."

"Do. And I don't want another call from you tonight unless the Snow Queen is line dancing down mainstreet with more of those cursed ice cream cones. I'm not ripping the hearts of the entire town out for this psychopath's entertainment."

"You'll find something soon. I know it."

Regina gives her a tight smile, and spares one last glance at the prince, now snoring in his carrier as Mary Margaret returns to the chair behind the desk. She didn't get to solve a bureaucratic crisis, as she'd hoped, but getting out of her vault has at least done someone some good. And if she's honest with herself, she feels a little better, too. Even if she still has baby snot crusting into green cement on the shoulder of her sweater.


	4. Escape

**Modern OQ AU**

Big thanks to lillie-grey on tumblr for the beta!

* * *

He's still watching her, the broody Brit who'd strolled into Keegan's Pub and Brewery ten minutes ago and sat at the opposite end of the bar. He'd been casting a casual eye across the room as he nursed a club soda, looking for someone, perhaps, when their gazes bumped into each other, and he's been sneaking looks at her ever since. There. She's caught him glancing up at her from his drink again, though he covers it by sweeping his eyes outward toward the television showing the eleven o'clock news behind her. His attention isn't unnerving, just thoughtful, as if he's trying to decide if he's met her before and is debating the merits of letting the moment pass or acting upon the chance they be auld acquaintances long forgot.

She's two glasses of merlot into erasing a week rife with bureaucratic nonsense when he moseys over to the empty bar stool beside her, asks if she's expecting anyone and would she mind terribly if he were to occupy this seat for a while. Her shitty week combined with the pleasant hum of merlot singing in her veins is the only reason she allows the blue-eyed Brit with the scruffy chin to sit next to her at first. Soon, though, his lilting repartee and easy laugh are a breath of fresh air washing over her skin, and she's been suffocating far too long to resist when he offers to buy shots of whiskey. As shot number one slithers down her throat it burns through the wall of resistance she's built against exactly this type of situation, this terrible and wonderful potential for a night where she doesn't have to be Deputy Chief Executive Mills, ball buster extraordinaire. She could be just Regina, for a night. Just herself, with this stranger who's gazing at her with such a quiet intensity he must already know her secrets. How convenient.

Yes, she'll have another.

Shot number two keeps her leg steady when his knee brushes the outside of her bare thigh below the hem of her dress, and shot number three has her moaning into his mouth as he presses her against the brick wall on the fire escape, his knee now on the inside of her thigh nudging gently to allow his leg to slip between hers. She tips her head back as his lips feather kisses from her mouth down the slope of her neck, and when he nips behind the hinge of her jaw and sucks, her back arches, sending the hand not pressed to her chest sliding down her side and coasting around her waist. He pulls her flush against him, and though the air is nippy for a Friday night in March, all she can feel is the alcohol burning in her belly and the radiating heat of his body pressed against her in all the right places.

She worms her hands below the hem of his shirt, grinning as her chilled fingers against his heated skin push a hiss through his teeth, and then she's gasping as his attention moves to her earlobe, sucking the sensitive flesh into his mouth and grazing her lobe with his teeth, gentle at first, and then harder as she slips a hand from under his shirt to scrape against the back of his neck.

They need to get off this fire escape.

"You are so lovely," he says, pulling back from her and stroking his fingers along the line of her neck, up her jaw until his fingers are threading in her hair, cradling her head.

She smiles, tries to calm the fluttery feelings his voice sparks in her belly and rush of heat gathering lower. "You're not so bad yourself."

"What would you say," he asks, nuzzling her nose with his own, "If I told you my name was Robin Hood?"

Regina snorts, pulls him in for another kiss and rolls her hips against his. "I'd ask where your Maid Marian is, because I'm certainly not her." She's not one for roleplay, usually, but tonight she'll indulge, live a little.

"I'm searching for a queen, not a maiden."

"In that case, her majesty's court is open for petitioners."

He grins at her then, front teeth capturing his bottom lip for a moment before he leans into her again, and then she's back against the wall as he sinks down, kneeling before his queen, and she's never been one for public displays, even if there's no one out here but a hazy green security bulb flickering above the emergency exit door, but oh she's making an exception for this night, and tomorrow she'll blame the lapse in judgement on shot number four.

* * *

An unfamiliar ringtone invades her sleep. Regina rolls away from the warmth of the other body in her bed and gropes for her cell phone on the nightstand, fingers bumping a glass tumbler she doesn't remember filling and sloshing water over her hand.

"It's mine," a sleep gravelled voice says. "Go back to sleep."

Regina flicks water from her hand and looks over her shoulder, watching the Brit swipe his thumb across the phone screen under the name "LJ". She rolls back over and throws her arm over her eyes. Forget her personal ban on tequila. After last night she's staying far away from whiskey. And hot British men with dimples. And that bar, too, because a foggy memory of tripping over her own feet and knocking a waitress into a wall on her graceless walk to the fire escape to have her way with Hot British Man has resurfaced along with a pulsing headache.

"It's barely morning. What do you want?" the Brit asks. The bed dips as he stands, and Regina lifts her arm up a fraction to sneak a peek at him as he pads to the bathroom, biting back a groan as her gaze lingers on the two dimples pressed into each cheek of his bare backside before he closes the door.

What's his name? Did she ever ask him?

She flops her arm off the side of the bed and scrabbles for the knob on her nightstand, nudging the drawer open with her fingers and then rolling to her stomach to rummage for the aspirin bottle. Two pills knocked into her palm and a swig of water from the tumbler later, she sits up and rolls her head from side to side. Her head pounds with the movement, but the tightness in her shoulders is lessened somewhat, and that's enough for now.

She'll make coffee, maybe scramble some eggs, and when Hot British Man emerges, she'll ask him his name (just for her own edification) and then send him on his merry way. Right?


End file.
